


Last Bus to Oxford, Next Stop London

by Sequesters



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Just what I think happened on the bus ride, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 04:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sequesters/pseuds/Sequesters
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale ride the bus from Tadfield to London, and discuss things that are long overdue.





	Last Bus to Oxford, Next Stop London

The Oxford bus rumbled and bumped as its driver nearly missed the proper exit to get to London, swerving at the last moment to change his destination, although not really knowing why.

But, that wasn’t the only thing that was unusual about this trip.

When they boarded in Tadfield, the demon Crowley had taken the window seat, expecting the angel Aziraphale to sit in the empty seat in front of him, and maybe converse with him discreetly by leaning backwards and tilting his head just so. It was a natural barrier to fully fraternizing, as it were, and also a subtle way to say  _ get thee behind me, foul fiend,  _ to anybody who could be watching.

To his surprise, Aziraphale had sat down right next to him, as if they were old friends.

Well, they  _ were _ that, but he didn’t expect Aziraphale to just go ahead and ACT like it. That just wasn’t something he  _ did. _

And  _ speaking _ of unusual happenings (and that’s ALL they had been speaking out for the past eleven years), something was UP with that angel. Ever since they had gotten on the bus, there had been something strange about his demeanor. Crowley studied his face, packed with worry lines, and tried to use his six thousand years of knowing him to puzzle out what he was thinking. The angel’s oh-so-expressive face had a furrowed brow, fire in his eyes, and a wobble in his lip.

He was on the brink of something.

“I expect…they will kill us soon,” Aziraphale finally murmured, under the roar of the bus, “Whenever they find it most convenient to do so.”

Crowley nodded. “Yep.”

Aziraphale swallowed, hard, and grabbed Crowley’s hand.

Crowley gasped in surprise, flicking his gaze back and forth from their hands to the angel’s face. Aziraphale was borderline  _ neurotic _ about any type of PDA, even too friendly of a conversation, and unfortunately that anxiety still included moments where they thought they were alone. The fact that he had just _ initiated _ this was throwing Crowley for a loop, so hard that he promptly forgot how to speak for a moment.

“Wh-wh-what-uh-a-angel, what is this?” Crowley asked, wincing at how stupid he sounded.

“This is me,” said Aziraphale, eyes firmly forward, “Choosing.”

“Ch-choosing what?” Crowley croaked.

“A  _ side, _ ” said Aziraphale.

Crowley gulped. “W-A-are you sure?”

“Never been  _ more _ sure, as a matter of fact,” said Aziraphale, pursing his lips in a thin line, “All things considered, what with everything that has been going on, and how  _ mistaken _ I was to believe that heaven would do right by humanity…I have made my decision, and I want to make my priorities crystal clear.”

Crowley took off his glasses with a shaking hand, wide yellow eyes soft and vulnerable as they gazed up at Aziraphale’s set jaw.

Aziraphale turned and looked directly into Crowley’s eyes.

“I. Am. On. OUR. Side,” Aziraphale said firmly, enunciating each word as if he were trying to make up for six millennia of shying away from them, “I don’t know how much time we have left for me to  _ prove _ it to you, but…I am  _ with  _ you, Crowley. I  _ love _ you.”

With that admission, Aziraphale’s composure cracked along with his posture, and he dropped his head down to his free hand, exhaling and then inhaling sharply into it.

“If…if this is really the end for us,” he said, clearly trying  _ desperately _ not to cry, “I…I would rather make this c-clear, you understand.”

Crowley took a deep breath, and laced his fingers into Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale let out a sob, and clutched his face with his hand again.

“Oh, angel,  _ angel, _ ” Crowley said, in a tone that he hoped was reassuring, stroking Aziraphale’s hand with his thumb, “It’s alright.”

Crowley had never seen Aziraphale cry before, and a small part of him was panicking. What could he do? Thankfully the rest of him seemed to just Know, and his free hand moved on instinct, cupping the side of Aziraphale’s face and bringing their foreheads together, simply letting Aziraphale exist with him, without judgement.  _ Don’t worry. I’m here. It’s okay. _

“You know, Aziraphale,” he said, when the angel had mostly composed himself, “I think...you are the only being in this great big universe that I  _ could  _ actually love,” he said. “And…I do.”

"Well," Aziraphale smiled down at Crowley, through his tears. “How about that.”

Aziraphale straightened up, and Crowley slumped back against the bus seat at a forty-five degree angle, heart pounding out of his chest. Despite this whole earth-shaking (well, metaphorically) conversation they just had, they were sitting JUST like they always had on the bench in St. James’ Park, with their equal and opposite postures, the only difference now being their twined hands.

And wasn’t _ that _ fitting. Nothing had really changed, they had always been on the same team in all but name, until now.

Until the very end.

“You know how this is going to end,” said Crowley in a deadly serious voice, “Extinction.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and nodded, as if attempting to reel in nausea.

“Hellfire for you, holy water for me,” Crowley sighed, trying to stay casual as if that would soften this harsh reality of his words, “Swish, bang, done.”

Aziraphale nodded, staring at the seat in front of them with uncharacteristic intensity.

“A pity,” he finally said, “that we couldn’t just…swap bodies, and take each other’s punishment.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said numbly, “Wouldn’t THAT be convenient.”

“I mean, it really  _ is _ a pity,” Aziraphale continued, “That I couldn’t just…go down to Hell in your body, and  _ you  _ couldn’t just…report up to Heaven in mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that one the _ first _ time, thanks angel,” said Crowley sarcastically.

“No, REALLY, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, and the urgency in his voice made Crowley look up a little. The angel’s posture had straightened up, and his eyes were…alight.

“It’s too  _ bad _ ,” he said, “That I could not inhabit your body and make sure  _ you _ survived the holy water, and in turn you couldn’t make sure  _ I _ survived the  _ hellfire _ .”

Crowley’s jaw dropped a little as he finally recognized that strange, awkward, lilty, i _ mplications-laden  _ tone of voice. That was the tone of voice that Aziraphale ONLY used when he was trying to suggest another instance of…their Arrangement.

“We could have a  _ fine _ time, playing about in what would completely  _ destroy _ the other,” Aziraphale continued, gripping his hand tighter as he got more and more excited, “And, we know each other so well, that we could be a  _ perfect _ facsimile of the other. I am sure that no one, on either side, would  _ ever _ know the difference!”

Aziraphale cleared his throat as he remembered himself. “You know. If we were to  _ do _ such a thing.”

Something like hope stirred in Crowley’s chest, dawning like the sun that wouldn’t come up for many more hours. Aziraphale, that magnificent bastard, had stared into the most impossible situation they had ever faced, and had come up with an honest-to-God PLAN.

“I would say, that it  _ is _ quite a pity, Aziraphale,” Crowley said carefully, trying his best not to smile while he played his part of the Arrangement, “That we couldn’t do that. The risks, for starters, would be quite high for an endeavor like this, don’t you know?”

Aziraphale pulled out Agnes’ Nutter’s final prophecy again, and gave it a look.

“If we misjudged our sides, for example…you could be, ah, t-tortured, in Hell. For eternity, Or-or worse,” Crowley said, imagining desperately that he was keeping his voice measured and calm, “’M not about to lose you again,” he muttered, hoping that if he spoke more quietly Aziraphale wouldn’t notice the waver in his voice.

Aziraphale gave him a look, a look that was touched and loving and smug all at once, that said that yes, he DID notice, and he wasn’t going to forget it.

Bastard.

“And-and  _ I _ could be tortured in Heaven, too!” Crowley said defensively, perhaps a touch TOO loud and boisterous, “Imagine me, with a DESK job up there!”

Crowley shuddered. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him.

“It says here, that we would be playing with  _ fire _ ,” he said, turning the paper so Crowley could squint at it, “So I think we both know  _ that _ wouldn’t happen. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, of course,” mumbled Crowley with just a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Aziraphale slammed the prophecy down onto his knee. “Oh, It’s a risk, Crowley, I KNOW it’s a risk, but if we don’t, we are CERTAIN to die.”

Aziraphale was now gripping Crowley’s hand so tightly he feared it would come off, pressing it into the bus seat between them.

So Crowley similarly dropped all pretense, and leaned up, until his lips brushed Aziraphale’s ear.

“Come back to my place, like I suggested earlier,” he whispered, “Spend the night. If we go in together, change, and walk out together in the morning, no one from ANY side will ever know what we did.”

“Quite scandalous,” Aziraphale whispered back, “Don’t you think?”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open. “Was that a JOKE, Aziraphale?” he asked, blinking in disbelief, “At a time like this?”

Aziraphale tried his absolute best to stop a smile from upturning the corners of his mouth, unsuccessfully. “Maybe.”

Crowley just stared, mouth slightly open, with a mixture of shock and amusement.

“Aziraphale, angel,  _ Guardian _ of the Eastern Gate, I absolutely  _ adore  _ you,” he proclaimed, “I hope you know that I would go through Heaven AND Hell for you.”

“Just Heaven would suffice, dear, thank you,” said Aziraphale, smiling despite it all.

Crowley let out one HA! Of laughter, and settled back down into the bus seat, this time leaning against Aziraphale’s warm corporeal form, for the rest of the ride.

Eventually, the bus came to a stop in front of Crowley’s flat, and they both stood up.

Aziraphale didn’t pull his hand away.

_ Oh,  _ Crowley thought,  _ Oh, he is really SERIOUS about this. _

Crowley felt a swell of pride in his chest, and they rose as one to exit the bus and walk into Crowley’s building, up the elevator, RIGHT up to his flat, with their hands still linked.

“I suppose that I could let go of your hand now,” Aziraphale noted, as they stood in front of Crowley’s door.

“Yeah, I suppose you  _ could _ ,” said Crowley, “But…do you really WANT to?”

“Not really,” admitted Aziraphale.

Crowley made a move to open the door, but then stopped.

“Angel,” he said, “If something...goes wrong, and you are stuck in Hell for  _ any _ reason, I  _ will _ come looking for you, and that is a promise.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale gave him the gift of a slow smile, glowing like the rising sun. “Thank you, my dear. And I, if necessary, will come and rescue you from Heaven.”

“My hero,” Crowley drawled back with a smile, and miracled the door unlocked with the snap of his fingers.

“Now come in, angel,” he said gesturing with his free hand, “and let’s get changed.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's taken me a bit of time to do this one for some reason, but I just really loved that headcanon where Aziraphale and Crowley hold hands on the bus, and then this just sort of spiraled out of control of that thought, as I often do. Thanks for reading!


End file.
